Difference is suicide
by Sophie'thegeek
Summary: There was also a trend that Sherlock had seen from the data, and warnings on the subject had been found on approximately seventy-six percent of the relevant sources he had looked at. It was very dangerous to be different whilst at school.


**Chapter One**

**A/N: Hey, I just started writing this when I really should be revising. Tell me what you think? Sorry for any Grammar/Spelling errors, I'll try and re-edit it later.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own BBC Sherlock.**

**Warning: Swearing, may change to 'M-rating' later.**

* * *

He wanted a cigarette.

Sherlock sighed, raising his eyes to glare at the ceiling. This was far more tedious than originally expected. He had officially been a student of the 'elite' Blackhill School for a grand total of thirty minutes, and he was already intolerably bored.

The principal, a large, beefy man, with three chins, squinty eyes, and deep frown lines which spoke of many years as teaching professional in teenage education, reminded Sherlock of the rather large, over-fed hamster that Mycroft had kept as a child. It had met its end when Sherlock, four years old at the time, had put some vodka in its water supply to investigate caloric homeostasis. Unfortunately, he did not even get the opportunity to dissect the creature once the thing had gone and died inconveniently, ruining the reliability of the entire experiment (he could hardly carry out the same experiment again if the creature was dead), as Mycroft had insisted that the hamster was cremated, if only to prevent Mummy from becoming dreadfully upset if she walked in on her four-year old hacking away at the little, furry animal with a scalpel from Mycroft's biology kit.

"-and we of course provide a range of extracurricular activities to meet the many different interests of our students. There's a football team, rugby, and not to forget swimming! We also offer activities for more artistically inclined students-" The man's slight sneer said exactly what he thought about those 'artistically inclined students'. "-There's drama club, art club, creative writing,-"

The man just did not stop talking, and Sherlock was reaching new heights of boredom as the seconds ticked by. He really,_ really_ wanted a cigarette. He would be sure to send a very rude, impolite letter to Great Aunt Gwendolyn expressing his extreme displeasure at being forced to attend school, and exactly what he thought about her affair with her new butler, who was only participating in said affair, in the vain hope to get a chunk of her fortune when the bright, shiny day of her death arrived. He should really give up now; Sherlock was certain she was just going to leave her whole estate to her blasted dog.

It had been Sherlock's Great Aunt Gwendolyn that had suggested sending Sherlock to boarding school, after his mother had expressed her concerns about Sherlock's lack of social skills. '_It is the perfect solution! The boy really has been homeschooled for far too long Sybil, it's about time he sheds himself of that ridiculous superiority complex he has, and socialises with other people like a normal person.' _Sherlock had never hated anyone more in his life.

Sherlock had been homeschooled throughout his whole childhood by private tutors, a system Sherlock had absolutely no problems with. He was years ahead of people his own age, and his learning had been uninterrupted by idiotic, attention-seeking imbeciles, and giggling girls. It had been perfect. Sherlock could learn about what he wanted, in as much detail as he pleased, for as long as he desired. When other five year olds had been learning the alphabet and how to tell the time, Sherlock had been studying ancient number systems and a third language. When other seven year olds had been learning about multiplication tables and Henry Vlll, Sherlock had been learning about the complexities of the immune response, and the oxidation of aldehyde's into carboxylic acids. Education had been something that he enjoyed, until now.

Sherlock wrinkled his nose, mouth forming a straight line. His research on the whole school experience had not yielded positive results. He had collected data from a large range of sources to eliminate bias, and the results suggested that school was, by far, the most tedious place in existence on planet earth. It appeared that school was a place full of teenage sexual frustration, bullying, petty drama, and inept teaching, where people with intelligence were tormented, and idiots, with hardly one brain cell to their name, were held on a pedestal. There was also a trend that Sherlock had seen from the data, and warnings on the subject had been found on approximately seventy-six percent of the relevant sources he had looked at.

It was very dangerous to be different whilst at school.

It made Sherlock smirk. He was absolutely certain his fellow schoolmates were going to _loath_ him. Even the 'geek's' as what seemed to be the term for the academically driven, were going to hate him due to his intellectual superiority. This was all perfectly fine with Sherlock, he could apply an increased amount of focus on his experiments when working alone, than when trying to explain the concepts of his scientific investigations to idiots, or when being forced to listen about the annoying, insignificant lives of other people.

"-Do you have any questions Mr. Holmes?"

Sherlock blinked, tearing his eyes from the ceiling to make eye contact with Mr. Hoddington. The man was watching him expectantly, moustache twitching, and a false smile plastered on his face.

"Why would I have any questions? I heard everything you just said perfectly."

The man seemed taken-back by Sherlock's response, obviously expecting some praise at how 'elite' the school sounded, or enthusiastic questions about how the school worked. Sherlock just wanted to leave. God, he wanted a cigarette. The day had been so dull.

"Well, it's just that usually students have questions about attending a new school. I would expect more questions in your case, considering your educational background." The man's tone was proud, superior and condescending, and it annoyed Sherlock to no end.

"I have no questions." Sherlock clarified, raising his eyebrows as the man frowned at him over the cluttered desk.

"If you're completely sure Mr. Holmes, if you do manage to think of any questions in the meantime, do not hesitate to ask."

"I won't," Sherlock said quickly, standing and striding to the door. He was absolutely _desperate_ now. He hadn't had the chance to smoke on the long drive to the school in case George, the Holmes' butler, who had a sickening loyalty to his mother, informed the woman of his smoking habits.

Just as his hand made contact with the door, a purposeful cough sounded behind him. Taking a deep breath to keep his annoyance under control, he schooled his face into a cheerful, inquiring look, and turned to the older man in askance.

"Sir?"

"I just have to remind you of a school rules before you go for the tour, Mr. Holmes," Mr. Hoddington stood up, his large stomach knocking the table and causing a few pens to fall off the surface onto the floor as he did so. He then smoothed out the creases in his expensive, pale blue suit with his hands, and waddled around the desk, placing a chubby, sweaty hand onto Sherlock's narrow shoulder. Sherlock bristled, resisting the urge to shake off the hand and blurt out the state of man's marriage, how his golden boy son was a heroin-addict, and how his daughter was sleeping with whoever took the photograph of the 'happy family' on his desk.

"Leaving the school grounds is not permitted under any circumstances, young man, and we have a no tolerance policy on bullying and vandalism. All members of staff are to be treat politely and respectfully, and we expect you to treat your fellow students with the same respect. Breaking into other dormitories is strictly prohibited, and any cases of stealing will be investigated fully. We expect you to try your best at the school, and you are only failing yourself if you do not to do so."

Sherlock nodded impatiently, greatly irritated by the man, and again, holding his tongue from snapping that any failing students would hardly look good for the school on the performance tables. Mr. Hoddington wasn't fooling anyone with 'only failing yourself' lark.

Mr. Hoddington grinned, crooked teeth showing. "Good, that's good." He patted Sherlock on the shoulder and moved his hand between his shoulder blades, pushing him gently forward.

Sherlock hurriedly grasped the door handle and strode down the corridor before the man could change his mind, he was about to turn the corner in the direction of the office to collect his room information, and _finally_ have a bloody, damned cigarette, when the Mr. Hoddington's annoying voice echoed down the hall.

"Oh, and Mr. Holmes?"

Sherlock halted, gritting his teeth and praying for temporary patience.

"I forgot to tell you, but there's also a no smoking policy. But I'm sure that won't be a problem, a healthy, young lad like you, eh?"

Sherlock's left eye twitched, and he glared at the wall in annoyance. The day couldn't get any worse. His phone vibrated in his pocket, and he pulled it out, quickly unlocking the screen and reading the new text.

**I do hope you have a good explanation for the cigarette packet George spotted in your trouser pocket, Sherlock. You've upset Mummy. – MH**

Sherlock growled, sending a quick text to Mycroft in reply-

**Piss off! –SH**

-and stalked around the corner, running a pale hand through his unruly curls in frustration.

_He was having a cigarette, rules, Mummy, and Mycroft be damned! _

**Worth continuing? **

**Thank you for reading!**


End file.
